Diversionary Tactics
by TheQueen'sKnees
Summary: After having learned of Lilly's death and Zelena's pregnancy, Emma and Regina decide to rely on each other, in more ways than one, to get through their pain. What starts out as supposed distraction turns into something more. #SwanQueen


Author's Notes: This story follows canon until Season 4, Episode 20—"Lily." Within that episode and beyond, I'm changing things. Lilly did die in a car accident (sorry Lilly fans!) as the man in the apartment building told Regina and Emma, and though Zelena is pregnant with Robin's child, she and Robin do not return to Storybrooke with Emma and Regina. All reviews, follows, and faves are so greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!

...

"Regina,"

"Just drive."

Emma's car feels oddly quiet for being in the middle of a crowded block in New York City. Regina is trying not to cry. She's staring at the dashboard with an overwhelmingly pain-filled expression that only lasts briefly before it hardens.

"Do you want to go—"

"Anywhere that's not Storybrooke."

It's all the incentive Emma needs. Her own grief and darkness—settled like a heavy stone in her stomach since hearing of Lilly's death earlier that morning—not forgotten, but suddenly not in charge. She'll do whatever Regina wants.

They drive for a couple of hours—enough to get the hell out of the state of New York—before Emma begins scouting the signs for their over-night options and finally chooses one. Regina asks the non-descript hotel clerk for only one room and doesn't seem to care in the slightest that it will have only one bed. It's just another small thing, like so many over the past several months, which signals that Regina isn't the same woman she used to be. That neither of them are. In fact, it seems so long ago now.

The time before they were comfortable in each other's presence. The time before they came to rely on one another so readily.

Emma's not sure how long Regina's been sequestering herself in the bathroom, but she knows it feels like _too long_ , and now she's contemplating the closed door with her hands on her knees.

"Regina?"

Silence.

"Listen, we don't have to talk; I just—"

The door opens and Regina appears again. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Emma feels a brief stabbing in her gut at the thought of Regina, sitting in the bathroom, crying so quietly that Emma couldn't even hear her from across what is really a rather short distance.

"I'm sorry." Regina offers, her tone and expression grim.

Emma's head tilts at this.

"For what?"

Regina looks around the room. She seems less physically imposing than usual. It's all a sort of tell that Emma picks up on. It means she's not entirely put back together and guarding herself because if she was, she'd invade the space, make herself bigger, make steely eye contact with a lifted chin.

"I've been selfishly…sulking for the last several hours. Even though you _also_ got some bad news this morning. And I made us come here."

Emma's heart swells a little. A question flutters through her mind about when exactly Regina Mills starting letting her walls down around her, but it's sent away by the gratitude she feels for its ever having happened at all.

"You don't have to be sorry."

Their eyes finally meet fully for the first time in hours. The connection feels like safety. And that's another thing between them that's changed over time.

"Really." Emma continues, convincing truth in her tone. "I'm glad we're here actually. And look," she stands up and moves toward the non-descript minibar in the corner with a gesturing arm cast out, "just because we may not want to talk about our problems, it doesn't mean we can't _drink_ about them."

The half-hearted grin she directs at Regina _isn't_ met with an eye roll, and that fact alone tells quite a tail about the state they're both in.

"What's your pleasure? Vodka, gin—"

"Bourbon." Regina declares with a certainty that conveys that if it's not in the minibar, she'll go out and get it.

Emma smiles as she reaches for several small bottles.

They're settled side by side against the headboard of the queen bed that's in the center of the room, and it's quiet again, because they don't _have_ to talk about the shitty, shitty happenings of the day. But then again, what is there to talk about instead, really? Especially when Robin's voice, calling desperately after Regina as they retreated down the hallway of the New York apartment building, is still echoing in Regina's mind. Especially when Emma feels the tumultuous mix of anger and sadness, about Lilly's death and her parents' actions and lies, churning too close to the surface.

As the alcohol goes down, the quiet suddenly becomes less appealing to Regina. She looks at Emma with some hesitancy in her expression that's outweighed by concern.

"Are _you_ okay?"

Emma nods her head just barely, still staring straight ahead as she lifts her glass a little.

"Better now."

Regina isn't sure what to say. When they'd left the decrepit tenement building with the news of Lilly's death, and she'd seen the anguish and darkness swirl in Emma's eyes (not for the first time in recent days), she'd tried to reach out—literally. She'd tried to lay a comforting hand on Emma's arm and tell her it wasn't her fault, but Emma wasn't having it. In fact, she'd scoffed at the words and shrugged off the touch, and Regina understood—really, she did—so she'd left it at that. But for some reason now, she wants to try again.

"You know that—"

"Don't say it isn't my fault." Emma means for her tone to be as clipped and biting as it has been many times as of late, but it comes out pleadingly desperate instead. She can feel Regina studying her.

"Emma, you were a _child_ when you knew Lilly. Not a great deal older than Henry. You were no more equipped to take care of her and her immense problems than you were of your own."

Emma sighs, focusing on the glass in her hand.

"Maybe. But my parents—"

"Are liars and cowards."

Emma feels a pull to defend them out of instinct, and a part of her briefly wonders if Regina _meant_ to provoke that exact response, but then she looses the urge and finds herself keeping quiet.

"So is everyone else at one time or another, hero or not. Their actions were rather short-sighted—"

"That's putting it mildly."

"Perhaps. But _of course_ they were. They were terrified. Your mother was willing to do anything to protect you from darkness because she was living with the very real effects it was having on someone she once loved."

Regina doesn't need to elaborate for it to be understood that she's talking about herself. When Emma finally responds, there's an edge of challenge in her tone.

"Fine. But if I have to believe that Lilly isn't my fault, are you going to believe that what's happened with Robin and Zelena isn't yours?"

Regina opens her mouth to respond, looking partly confused, because that's certainly not where she was expecting Emma to go, but also partly irritated.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar." Emma challenges with the barest hint of a smile. "I know you, Regina. And I know that part of you—the old part—wants to rip Zelena to shreds. But the rest of you? _Most of you_? That part was sitting in the car the whole way here—and in that bathroom a little bit ago—blaming _yourself_ and thinking that _of course_ this has happened because 'villains don't get happy endings' or—or what the hell ever."

Regina feels a little bit stunned. She wants to give back denial in response, but she can't. Emma's not wrong, and they both know it. Instead, her muttered response is defeated.

"Well they don't."

"Bullshit." Fierce determination is suddenly shining in Emma's green eyes, yet they're also somehow gentle. "You can't sit here and say, in practically the same breath, that heroes should be forgiven for being lying, selfish, cowards, who stole a child's innocence, but _villains_ should be punished for all eternity no matter how much good they've done."

Regina tries to look away, but for some reason she can't.

"I don't care who you _used_ to be, Regina. All of this stuff with Robin? You don't deserve it. Period." Emma swirls the ice in her glass once and brings it up to her lips. She drinks, and then they sit for a minute before Emma speaks again—her tone that of an afterthought. "Also, Robin's an idiot."

Regina's lets out a little huff of surprise. She finds herself wanting to defend Robin, but that instinct is surprisingly squelched by the need to know why Emma is saying such a thing in the first place.

"What? Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true. Totally."

Regina's brow furrows and her mouth opens, but before she can respond, Emma's cellphone is ringing. Hook's face flashes on the screen, and Regina can't help herself.

"Speaking of idiots."

The jibe is the first instance of normalcy they've felt all day, and Emma shouldn't smile in return, but she does just that before gesturing that she's stepping out for a moment to take the call.

Regina takes a moment to sip her drink in silence and let the hints of maple and oak soothe the aching in her chest.

She takes her own cell out of her pocket. There are three missed calls from Robin, and one voicemail. In the very back of her mind, there's a biting remark about how he's suddenly trying to stay in touch with her _now_. Now that, once again, he doesn't have his wife. She's known he's been trying to call sine they left his building, but she hasn't been able to bring herself to answer—or to listen. With a deep breath, she thinks of calling Henry, but decides to text instead. He'll have questions that she's honestly just not ready to answer. Beyond that, she's not certain she could keep her emotions in check if she were to hear his voice. She's telling him she loves him, as does Emma, and that they'll talk tomorrow, when Emma suddenly comes bursting back into the room, slamming the hotel door shut behind her.

"Everything okay?" Regina asks warily.

Emma stalks over to the bed in lieu of response, drops her phone loudly on the nightstand, and angrily picks up her bourbon; her knuckles are white against the glass as she drinks.

"Yep. Great." She slams her glass down, drops onto the bed with force, and begins yanking off her boots before tossing them halfway across the room.

"Clearly."

She can _feel_ Regina raise an eyebrow behind her back.

"I just broke up with Hook."

"Oh?"

"Over the phone. Like a fifteen-year-old. Feel free to make all the jokes you want."

Regina doesn't make a joke. If she's being honest, which apparently she always is with Emma Swan these days, she's concerned rather than amused.

"It's just—" Emma turns toward her on the bed and looks anguished, angry, and sad, all at once. "Like _all_ the fucking time, you know? Big soft eyes caring _so much_ about me and giving away his ship and shit, and it's not that I don't appreciate it, or even that I don't like it sometimes or think he's a good man; it's just that it's…it's not…"

"Quite right?" Regina pushes gently.

"Yeah." Emma nods. "Just now, he was being all, 'you're going to get through this,' and 'I'm here for you, Swan,' and it was just _not_ what I needed. And then I was saying, 'this isn't working,' and 'I need some space when we get back.'"

Regina waits quietly, watching Emma's face while Emma studies the bedspread.

"I mean, I'm trying to give that level of commitment back, but I just _can't_." Emma's voice softens. "And honestly? The truth is…I don't _want_ _to_."

Regina's chest feels oddly tight as Emma's words sink in. Something inside Regina clicks and connects to everything Emma's said, but she doesn't acknowledge it verbally. Instead, she reaches out and takes Emma's empty glass from her hand. Their fingers brush as she slips her own, still mostly full one, into its place.

"You don't have to, dear."

Their eyes hold again for a long moment. Emma looks like she wants to ask a question but thinks better of it. Instead, she looks down at Regina's glass in her hand, raises it to her lips, and drains the rest of its contents.

"Can I tell you something else?" Emma asks after a beat.

"Of course." And Regina wonders at how natural and instantaneous her response is.

"I _am_ upset about Lilly. I am angry with my parents. But I don't really understand why I feel _this_ bad." She shrugs and the ice in her glass clinks. "Maybe there is something to this fighting the darkness stuff, because this anger I feel is _intense_ and twisted. It doesn't just feel like anger; it feels like—"

"Rage?"

"Exactly."

"I know the feeling."

Regina gets up, takes both glasses and refills them, then resumes her position against the headboard. She feels Emma's gaze on her as she feels the heat of the fresh bourbon against her throat.

"I know you do. And it's kind of nice."

Their eyes meet at this, and Emma quickly clarifies.

"I mean, not nice that you've felt this—or feel this—or whatever. I mean, nice that there's someone who gets it; that I have someone who understands. You know?"

Regina softly acknowledges with a barely whispered, "I do."

They sip from their drinks for a moment, and then Emma suddenly looks like she's contemplating something incredible.

"I don't think I've ever realized it until now, but do you realize that you are the most consistent and reliable person in my life, Regina? _You_."

Regina suddenly feels (and looks) like she has no understanding of what on earth Emma is talking about. Her face scrunches in a confused/perturbed expression, which she hopes covers the nerves she's suddenly feeling at having Emma Swan look at her like she's seeing all of her for the very first time.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Emma smiles.

"I mean you're more consistent than anyone else I've ever known. For starters, you're always what you seem, even when _nothing_ else is. When we first met and it seemed like you were up to something bad, you were. When it seemed like you were out to get me, you were. And yet, when it seemed like you truly loved and wanted what's best for Henry, you did. When it seemed like you were _really_ trying to change and be a better person, you were. You _are_. You're always exactly what you seem. And more than that, you understand things—immediately and clearly—that no one else does."

Regina, honestly, doesn't know how to even begin to respond, so she falls back on the casual teasing that is their home base.

"I think the liquor is going to your head. You do know bourbon packs more of a punch than your usual selection of canned beer and Cheetos, don't you?"

Emma actually smiles a full smile at this. She blinks before she lifts her glass to take another drink.

" _You_ know that changing the subject and mocking—just to avoid a compliment—is just another way that you're consistent, right?"

Regina glowers half-heartedly in response, and sips in silence for a few minutes. When she speaks again, her tentative tone, as well as her question, surprises both of them.

"Do you think that I did the wrong thing today? That it was wrong to leave Robin behind with Zelena?"

Emma's expression softens, though Regina can't see it with all of her focus cast towards the closed bathroom door with an intensity that says she'd make it burst into flames with her magic if she could.

"Regina," Emma's voice is impossibly gentle. "You didn't just leave him there. He chose to stay."

"He didn't choose for my insane sister to trick him into believing she was his dead wife so that she could become pregnant with his child."

"True." Emma allows after a breath. "But he is a grown man, and he still chose to stay. And you choosing to walk away was you _protecting_ yourself, _not_ you abandoning him. Those aren't the same thing."

Regina lowers her gaze to her glass and gives a small nod.

"Perhaps."

"Doesn't make it feel any better though, does it?"

Regina raises her glass and lets out a breath.

"No. It does not."

Emma tilts her head and swirls the ice in her drink.

"Does it make you feel better that he's an idiot?"

" _Why_ do you keep saying that?"

Emma shrugs.

"It's the duty of the friend to call the guy an idiot post breakup. Standard procedure."

Regina wants to respond, but yet again she's cut off—this time by her own phone buzzing loudly on the nightstand to their right. Emma see's Robin's name flash and repeats Regina's words from earlier.

" _Speaking of idiots_."

The phone stops buzzing.

"That's his fourth call." Regina says quietly and brokenly. "There's a voicemail I haven't listened to. My sister is no doubt thrilled by his anguished attempts to reach me."

Emma doesn't say anything because she isn't sure exactly what to say. Much to her amazement, Regina puts down her drink, picks up her phone, and lays it in the middle of the bed in front of them. She makes a couple of swipes on the screen, and Robin's voice suddenly fills the room. Emma can feel Regina's body tense, and without even thinking about it, she slides her right hand into Regina's left and twines their fingers together.

 _Regina, I—I know there is nothing I can say. I am just so, so very sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt. That's the last thing I wanted. I—_ Robin's voice breaks and Emma glances over to see one tear streaking down Regina's left cheek. _I was only trying to do what I thought was best. I was trying to move forward and reconnect with my wi—with Marian…or who I thought was Marian. I wanted a true family for Roland, and I—and now I feel I have no choice but to stay._ _I'm sorry, Regina. Please believe me. If we could talk, if I could…I'm just so sorry._

As the calls ends (and it's evident that no new voicemail has arrived from Robin's latest call), Regina lets go of Emma's hand and wipes angrily at her tears. She picks up the phone and moves it back to the nightstand, and then she's up, draining the last of her drink and gathering a few things from her suitcase before quietly excusing herself to the bathroom.

When she comes out again, only a few minutes later, she's composed once more and clad in a light-blue, silk pajama set that is so _Regina_ that it makes the corners of Emma's mouth turn up in a small smile. Emma has changed as well—into a black tank top and some soft and worn, much less fancy, pajama pants. She's still sitting on the bed atop the covers, though she's pulled out the pillows and propped herself more comfortably against the headboard. The light from the lamps beside the bed is soft, and Emma has refilled both of their drinks.

They sit together again, as minutes pass that feel longer than they actually are. It's Emma who finally breaks through this latest bout of silence.

"You're going to get through this."

"Oh?" Regina asks, a little dejectedly, with a trace of something close to half-hearted humor in her voice. "And how am I going to do that?"

Emma shrugs, making the pillow she's leaning against crinkle softly.

"The same way you've gotten through every other crappy thing you've been through."

At this, Regina raises an eyebrow. Emma smiles in return.

"Okay, maybe not the _same_ way."

The left corner of Regina's mouth tilts up just slightly.

"Yes, about that. How does one go through a _breakup,_ " she rolls her eyes as she says the last word, " _without_ murdering everyone in sight and setting everything on fire?"

Emma laughs, and it feels fantastic to both of them.

"Hmm." She tilts her head in contemplation. "Good question."

A beat passes.

"Rebound sex?"

Regina looks immediately and completely appalled, which only makes Emma laugh again.

"Hey, it's the fastest way to get over someone else."

Regina huffs in disbelief.

"Are you going to do the same then? To get over the pirate?"

Emma looks seriously contemplative for a second.

"Maybe. But we're talking about _you_ right now." She turns, places her drink on the nightstand, and slides down lower, head resting on her pillow while she crosses one ankle over the other. "Lets think. Who could you have some no-strings-attached, totally unemotional but still super hot, sex with?"

Regina discards her own drink and lies down as well. "Yes, let's do think it over. Because the list of people just waiting to sleep with me—in _Storybrooke_ —is no doubt long and illustrious."

"You might be surprised." Emma says without a thought or even the slightest bit of hesitation.

Regina throws her a skeptical look.

"I highly doubt that."

"Come on, Regina. As if any of the men in Storybrooke would give a shit about some three-decade-old Evil Queen crap if you were suddenly trying to _seduce_ _them_."

Regina blinks.

"This is a ridiculous conversation."

Emma is almost laughing again as she rolls up onto her right elbow, propping herself so she can look down at Regina, who's closer to her in proximity than she realized.

"You're like, _insanely_ gorgeous. And people notice. Because they have _eyes_. Don't act like you don't know this."

Regina feels stunned by the compliment, though she doesn't let it show, mostly because it's coming from Emma, and that matters to her for some reason she doesn't understand and doesn't really want to identify. Because she and Emma Swan are sharing a bed together and talking about their _feelings_ , and it doesn't feel nearly as odd or uncomfortable as one would think it might. In fact, it doesn't feel odd or uncomfortable at all. Her eyes shift to Emma's for only a second before they drift back to the ceiling.

"You're wrong. My being—"

"Beautiful?" Emma interrupts.

"Physically attractive—by some standards," Regina corrects, "doesn't mean people don't still find me quite repulsive because of my past behavior."

Emma's quiet for a moment.

"Regina, look at me." She says in a low tone, all signs of joking having left her voice. When Regina does, Emma not only holds her gaze, but also moves her free hand to grasp Regina's upper arm. The touch is hot through the silk of Regina's sleeve.

"You are _not_ repulsive, okay? Not ever."

There's vulnerability mixed with genuine sincerity reflected in Emma's eyes, and Regina suddenly feels like the space between them is much too small. A bit of panic flutters in her chest, and she tries to push it down.

"Careful, dear." She raises a brown and speaks dryly as she lets her gaze travel from where Emma touches her to Emma's eyes. "One _could_ get the impression that you're putting yourself on the list of my possible rebounds."

Emma doesn't shove away from her with a roll of her eyes and a laugh as Regina expects; instead, her gaze travels down to Regina's mouth before it comes back up and reconnects with Regina's.

"What if I was?"

Possibly for the first time ever, Regina has trouble responding immediately.

"Emma," Confusion, surprise, and something like a trace of longing color the whispered name.

A million sharp emotions flicker through green eyes that are searching and asking and don't appear to be joking in the slightest.

"It wouldn't be so terrible would it?" Emma whispers back, her gaze piercing and insistent in a way that makes Regina's breath catch and hold. "If we made each other feel something else besides all of this? Something good instead of bad?"

Regina wills herself to breathe, to respond, to do something _other_ than pull Emma's mouth down to hers, because really, truly, she's not some silly, inexperienced, easily flustered—

She sits up as calmly as she can, as though she's not shaken in the slightest, and effectively breaks the contact by putting a little space between them.

"We've had too much to drink. You're just—"

"I'm not drunk."

Regina throws a look over her shoulder that aims for annoyed skepticism, but falls somewhere just short, possibly because of the tinges of worry coloring her dark eyes. Emma still relents.

"Fine. Maybe I am a little. But it's just giving me courage, not inventing the idea."

Regina, stunned, shakes her head and _almost_ laughs in response.

"The _idea_? Emma, what you're proposing—"

"Could be a lot of fun." Emma shrugs, trying to assert a calm, coolness that she doesn't actually feel. "And it might help you."

"Help me?" Regina's voice is suddenly irritated and bordering on anger. "Help _me_? So, I'm the needy one in this scenario of yours? That's great, _savior_. I didn't realize _sexual healing_ was in your repertoire of rescuing skills."

Regina gets up from the bed while Emma tries to amend her words.

"That's not—I meant that we could—that we both need to—"

"To what exactly? To _have sex_? With each other. And that will just solve all of our problems?"

Regina picks up her phone and swipes its screen fiercely, seemingly trying to distract herself from this insanity for at least half a second, before she moves over to the chest of drawers that's next to the bathroom door and drops it next to the television. Her hands come up to her hips as she rounds on Emma again.

Emma.

Who looks a little angry and a little sad.

"I just want to forget."

The sharp edges in Regina's gaze soften.

"We can't forget, Emma."

"We could temporarily."

"For what purpose?"

"To feel _good_ for a change."

Emma says it so plainly, like it's the most obvious and simple thing in the world, and the thought and the delivery make Regina's anger flair to life again.

"Is that so? Tell me, Ms. Swan, how exactly would this _idea_ of yours work? How _good_ would we feel? Let's drop the veiled prattle and be specific. Are you going to give me an orgasm every time I even _think_ of Robin? And will I make sure you have one anytime you want to put your hand through a wall or pout about your charming parents? Is that what you're thinking? That we should just _fuck_ one another anytime any unpleasant emotion happens to come our way?"

Emma's up and out of the bed in an instant, Regina's tone, as well as _that_ word from _her_ mouth, urging her to invade Regina's space in an old, familiar way that's always burned the air between them.

" _Yes_ , actually. That's exactly what I was thinking. And you don't need to act like it would be the worst Goddamn thing in the world either, Regina. Because it wouldn't be, and you know it."

A heated breath passes between them. Emma advances further, until Regina's against the closed bathroom door, with Emma's palms flat against the wood on either side of her head.

"Don't you think it would nice? To not be alone? To be touched when you need it most?"

Something inside of Regina begins to settle into stillness at the tone of Emma's voice-cycling so rapidly from fiery anger, to complete self-assuredness, to such _wonder_.

"I may not be who you really want, but I can make you feel good. I can make you forget."

Regina is surprised at all of the shocking urges she suddenly feels. The urge to correct Emma about what, and who, she does and doesn't want. The urge to grab hold and obliterate the centimeters of space still between them. The urge to give up.

Give in.

Agree.

She tries to shove them all down fiercely, but Emma _keeps_ talking. Hotly. So close to her skin.

"I would be so good to you, Regina. I would distract you. For _hours_. Any way you want."

There's a moments stilted silence while Regina's eyes drop down Emma's body and come back up again; she tilts her head just the slightest amount before she finally responds.

"You're awfully focused on _my_ _needs_ in this arrangement. What about yours?"

Emma's eyes flash with something that's almost like humor, but then they color with a fraction of the desperate weariness she'd been trying, until now, not to let show.

"I need a lot."

"Such as?"

Emma's eyes, surprisingly, don't waver in the slightest.

"I need you. To reach inside me and push, over and over again, until the anger breaks. I know you could; I think you're the only one who can."

Regina flat out wants to say yes. She wants to grab Emma and start this pushing and forgetting _right now_. But the old fear that has been so crippling her whole life is still inside—somewhere deep; she's trying to shove the fear away, but it's so _hard_ to overcome. And even though absolutely no one would ever believe her—except maybe the stubborn and possibly insane woman who's in front of her right now—she truly does not want to do one more _wrong_ thing. So she's stuck in this moment, against the door, with so little air to breathe.

Until her phone vibrates again.

Without hesitation, Emma is groaning and grabbing it, because really: _It's enough already_. Regina, however, is suddenly panicked.

"Emma? What are you doing?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course, but—" Emma swipes across the screen, and Regina hears Robin's voice say her name, which makes her heart clench. She's more taken aback, however, by the fierce determination on Emma's face and the _protectiveness_ that is suddenly radiating off of her when she speaks.

"You need to stop, Robin."

 _Ms. Swan?_

"Yeah. Regina is with me. You need to stop calling her."

 _I just wanted to—_

"To apologize some more?" Emma's looking over Regina's left shoulder, at the wood of the door behind her as she speaks evenly and firmly. "That's not what she needs right now. She needs space, and you need to give it to her."

There's silence on the line for a moment and then:

 _Can you at least tell me that she's all right?_

Emma looks like she'll throw the phone against the wall and break into a million tiny pieces, but only for a second.

"Of course she's not all right." Her eyes connect with Regina's. "But she will be. She has me, and Henry, and we will help her through this." And then they're cast down and away again. "But _you_ can't, okay? She heard your message; I promise you. And she will contact you if she wants to. But until then, you need to leave her alone. She deserves that much, don't you think?"

 _Yes…of course. I understand. I just—I didn't mean for any of this; I didn't mean to hurt her._

"I know, Robin." Emma lets out a breath, and her eyes close. She looks, at once, both ragingly angry and sadly defeated. Regina tilts her head and watches, with astonishment, all of the emotions that play across her face. "And so does Regina. And you know, while we're at it, I didn't mean to hurt either of you when I thought that I was bringing an innocent woman back through time. But I did, didn't I? And we all do—hurt each other, I mean. And it has to stop somewhere doesn't it? Let's start now, with you leaving Regina alone. Okay?"

 _Okay. I...Yes...Thank you, Ms. Swan._

Emma disconnects the call, and her arms drop down to her sides; Regina sees her chest rise and fall, and then she's holding the phone out with a fierce grip.

"You should take this before I throw it at the wall."

Emma's trying to level her breathing as well as her emotions. She stares at the carpet for a long moment and doesn't look up as Regina takes the phone, puts it aside, and takes a small step towards her that's halted by her words.

"I'm sorry, Regina. About my stupid…'suggestions.' I won't ever—"

"Don't."

Emma stops and looks up at Regina—really looks at her for the first time since the call ended. The gaze she sees is a dark mixture of many emotions: fear, confusion, frustration, _longing_.

"Don't take it all back."

Emma swallows and stays still. Five seconds tick by in her mind, feeling longer and heavier than they really are. Regina crosses the remaining distance.

"Tell me again what it would be like."

Emma still doesn't move, afraid to shatter this small moment. This moment that so many others have lead to.

"It would be safe. Warm. Like nothing else matters. You wouldn't be alone and neither would I."

There's a half of a second at most, during which brown and green eyes meet with matched uncertainty and need, but then they're coming together— _finally_ —with a bruising force and heat that melts everything else _away_.

Emma's body stepping into Regina's feels so warm, hard, and real that Regina inwardly curses any minute, all the minutes—and maybe there were many more than she realized until now—that she chose to fight this. Emma's hands are gripping her waist, moving up her back, and holding her so fiercely that it feels like Emma is pouring everything she has into kissing her. It's an achingly deep kiss that's long and thorough, and yet, somehow, worryingly desperate, too.

In the midst of the exchange of hot breath, soft lips travel from Regina's mouth, to her jaw, to her neck, and then Emma's teeth graze her skin in _exactly_ the right spot just above her shoulder. Regina tangles her hands into Emma's hair and pulls her closer. Their hands sweep and clutch, press and claim. It's not long before deft fingers are undoing the strings that loop and hold the pants at Emma's waist, but Emma stops them, holding Regina's wrists to still the movement. Emma's breathing is ragged and heavy; the look on her face says she not sure if she should ask for what she wants or just demand it.

"Just say it."

"I want you to get on the bed, and let me take off your clothes."

Regina isn't miffed or even taken aback. In fact, it's curiosity, and even a bit of understanding that flitters quickly through her dark eyes in response. And then she's complying, without even one spare thought for the version of herself, who, long ago, would've scoffed at and squashed the half request/half demand to be in charge. She steps back and gracefully moves onto the bed, ending up in the middle, while leaning to one side. She props herself up by her arm as her legs bend and curve, and she regards Emma expectantly—waiting.

Emma, in turn, rids herself of her pants and then her tank. The removal of her own clothes is a gesture of gratitude, a concession, a solidifying of her focus. If she wasn't so intent on determining how _exactly_ to remove Regina's silk pajamas next, she'd see the desire swirl in brown eyes and the swallowing down of a response to the sight of her body.

Emma climbs on to the bed and reaches out, adjusting Regina's position so that she's lying flat on her back, and then her hands are moving to Regina's waist, fingers dipping and pulling on silk pants that slide down deceptively quietly. She casts them aside and she's onto the shirt. Her movements are focused, and not swift but certainly not slow. If Regina were anyone else, she might be intimidated by the concentration that radiates off of Emma; the kind of detailed application that says she's committed to what they're doing—that it's the only thing that even exists right now.

Their bodies slide together easily.

Thighs meet lace-covered heat with urgency. Emma rocks up against Regina in a barely controlled way, watching her face before she wraps her fingers in dark hair and rocks her hips again. Regina holds back a groan of approval, but doesn't miss that somehow, Emma still seems to sense it. Emma drops her lips to Regina's mouth, then it's corner, then her jaw, and breathes in deeply. The heavy intake is an acknowledgement of what she's realizing—not for the first time, but for the first time like this:

One. Regina Mills is everything that's _breathtaking_.

Two. Robin Hood _really_ _is_ a fucking idiot.

The last thought makes her lips tilt up slightly, and Regina can feel it against her skin before another deep kiss takes precedence. Regina's mouth is as warm and solid and forceful as everything else about Regina. She makes her way to the shell of Emma's ear before her head falls back again to the sensation of teeth moving over her collarbone and heatedly, hurryingly, across a breast. Emma's lips cover, pull, slide and lift against her skin, somehow rushed and detailed all at once.

And then there's an almost imperceptible hesitation in Emma's body.

Regina can sense it keenly, like she can read Emma perfectly, like they've been doing this for ages instead of minutes.

"If you stop now, I'll kill you." Regina rasps into blonde hair.

Emma's lips curve against her breast, and messy curls shake slightly, muffling a half-laugh.

"Believe me, I do _not_ want to stop."

Regina tugs on her hair lightly then, and Emma lifts herself up a bit until their eyes meet; a beat of challenging silence wrestles between them.

"I'm trying to stay in control." Emma admits.

It's a confession she didn't mean to let slip.

Regina's eyes grow serious in response; she tightens her grip in Emma's hair and pulls her closer.

"Don't."

It's only one word, breathed hotly against Emma's mouth, but it's rich and thick, and it's accompanied by Regina's hand sliding over and down. Her touch glides across Emma's stomach and beneath pink cotton, pushing lightly as her lips move under Emma's.

"Give it to me."

Emma's arms are almost shaking as she tries to hold herself up. There's a last half-hearted hesitation as she feels Regina's grip in hair and lips on her skin, and then she's nodding into Regina's neck and sinking down to her body as Regina's fingers slide into heat.

Emma moans, barely keeping herself from crushing Regina beneath her, because really, she truly can't help it. All her desire for personal restraint melts as Regina begins moving her fingers. Everything in her body rushes forward to meet Regina's touch with urgency, her hips canting and her senses accelerating. All she can feel and hear is Regina below her and against her, hot skin and breath pushing her to let go.

"Fuck, Regina."

And she can't be in control anymore. She can't, and she doesn't want to be. A burst of energy makes her raise her torso up and push down until she's looking down at Regina and meeting her movements. Regina, who seems amazingly focused on maintaining this contact, who's pushing her so easily, just as she always has, right into an explosion.

Emma wants to kiss her. She wants to keep eye contact. She wants to hear more of her hot words in her ear. But Regina is unrelenting beneath her, breaking her already— just the way she'd wanted. And then she's collapsing; she's caught and held, and pushed even further, and she doesn't want it to end.

When it does, it takes her a moment—more than one, really—to collect herself. She feels heavy as she moves herself into a kneeling position beside Regina's legs. Her expression is satisfied, but there's a hint of amused irritation there, too, that gets Regina's attention. Regina lifts an arm and lays it above her head at an angle, looking up into green eyes.

"Something wrong?"

Emma half shakes her head, exhaling and running a hand through her tangled hair.

"No. Definitely not." She trails her touch slowly up Regina's calves and higher. "I just intended for _you_ to be the breathless and moaning one. " Her fingers dance around a kneecap and up a thigh. " _Before_ me."

Regina offers a cocky, small smile.

"Should I apologize for ruining your _idea_?" Her voice is lightly smug and deeply molten.

Emma smiles back, and then she's moving. She leans forward over Regina, taking her hands and moving them to grip the oak spindles comprising the headboard. Regina's expression belies only the slightest hint of anticipation and surprise as Emma's lips press against her ear.

"You _should_ get ready." Her lips ghost over Regina's neck.

"Oh? What for?"

"To feel full."

Emma's fingers slide and grip, moving assuredly as they pull down black lace and cast it aside. With utterly confident movements that are still neither too fast nor too slow, she's opening Regina's legs and positioning them how she wants them. Her palms move across thighs as she scoots forward and lifts Regina's right leg, running her hands up as she settles it, so that Regina's lower calf is resting over her left shoulder.

Regina's chest is noticeably heaving. She's not shy, but she's stunned, and moved, because no one's ever done exactly this before—taken the time to open her up, to settle her body just so, in a manner that's both confident and gentle; a manner that firmly says, 'this is all about you, and I'm going to make sure you feel it completely.' Her grip tightens around the spindles as Emma reaches out with her right hand. There's the slightest of moments, almost imperceptible really, when Emma's eyes ask for permission and Regina's grant it.

And then Emma's knuckles pull across wet heat.

Regina wants to shut her eyes against the utter ecstasy that washes over her—ecstasy that's mirrored in Emma's features—but she can't. Instead, she watches and feels.

Emma's strokes are long and firm.

Testing.

Preparing.

Regina can't take much of it before she needs more. Her hips press up toward Emma's touch of their own volition.

"Emma," She lets out on a throaty, shaky breath, with only a fleeting thought given to how easy it has become to say this woman's name whenever she needs—

Whenever she needs.

Something like surrender washes over Emma. Her wrist turns, her fingers adjust, and then she's pushing inside to the sound of Regina's throatily expressed relief. She leans forward, until Regina's knee hooks over her shoulder, and the contact is so perfectly deep—with just the right amount of force.

Regina would be shocked at how quickly and easily her entire body is capable of being played by this woman, if the sheer suddenness of being so completely satisfied wasn't such an all-encompassing feeling. Emma establishes a rhythm, and their bodies grow slick as she moves in again and again, commandingly unrelenting, yet still careful. Regina can feel Emma's eyes mapping her body, so attentive and present, almost as much as she can feel her touch. Her own eyes are impossibly dark and heavy lidded as she fights to keep them open, to stay connected, which is a need that surprises her for a myriad of reasons.

Emma pushes her with words as much as actions.

"Tell me what you need, Regina. I'll do anything."

"Just this, " Regina hears herself breathe thickly, with a nearly pleading tone, as she feels as though every single part of her is stretching to each thrust. "Don't stop."

Emma doubles her efforts, body singing with the breathy admission that she's enough, until—all too quickly—all Regina can feel is pure pleasure. All she can hear is Emma, breathing her name into hot air and telling her to let go, to let her give her what she needs. All she can sense is a familiar but long absent fire; one that's never burned quite like this before.

Regina arches up, and everything is forgotten.

Nothing else even _is_.

And that's the whole point.

Isn't it?


End file.
